


Aftermath

by ValeCimmerian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeCimmerian/pseuds/ValeCimmerian
Summary: Not long after their trials have occured, Aziraphale and Crowley have a conversation  about what happened when they were in one another's bodies.





	Aftermath

Several days after the End-That-Wasn't, or the Second Beginning as Aziraphale and Crowley preferred to think of it, Crowley raised the question. They were sat together in companionable silence, Aziraphale at his desk and Crowley draped over the sofa they both now thought of as his.  
'Angel, what happened down there?'  
'Whatever do you mean? It all went to plan, they're leaving us alone aren't they?' Aziraphale sat up straighter, stiffer. His hands stilled at the pages in front of him.  
'Well yeah, for now, but we know that won't be forever. 'Sides, you used my body, I've a right to know what you did with it.' 

A deep sigh, then- 'Alright, but it wasn't exactly pleasant you know.' Crowley sat up and spun his whole body around to sit on the arm of the sofa, so he could face Aziraphale square on. His arms were tensed, but his face relaxed.  
'Can't be that bad, I mean I've lived in Hell, I know what they're like.'  
Aziraphale nervously met Crowley's intense gaze, batted away the butterflies that rose at the most inconvenient times (usually when looking directly at Crowley, although it would be a miracle to get him to admit to that), and swallowed.  
'Well, ah, once they'd properly dragged you- me, down, they introduced the court for your trail. Really my dear, it was a sham. They tried you, sure, but...'

As Aziraphale recounted the events of that farce of a trial, he found images of the demons that mocked Crowley flash before his eyes, heard their myriad cheers at the thought of Crowley's death, felt once again that sinking feeling at the thought that they would have killed Crowley, they would have wiped him from existence for what he did for him, for Aziraphale, the thought that so suddenly and quickly Crowley could be gone. Thoughts and images and sounds he had not been able to process at the time invaded his mind as he spoke, and Aziraphale's voice began to get more choked as he went on until he could no longer make a sound. The room was hazy, barely real and echoey, until a voice cut through the haze.

'Aziraphale are you alright?' Crowley was looking right at him as the world came into focus, really looking with those enchanting eyes of his, and-

Aziraphale couldnt help it. A rather ungodly sound escaped his chest as he flung himself towards Crowley in a tight embrace. He buried his head in the demon's shoulder, holding him close. Crowley was slightly taken aback, blinking at first like a program still trying to load, but then softening and wrapping his long arms around the softness of his angel. 

'Angel, I'm okay.' Crowley's voice was soft and low, reverberating through both their chests and causing Aziraphale to hum gently. After a shaky sigh, that Crowley felt along every inch of his body, Aziraphale loosened his python-like grip and moved to straighten his clothing which had become disheveled, but Crowley caught his hands gently in his own. 

'Sorry about that, shouldn't happen again' Crowley looked at Aziraphale so gently and sadly, that Aziraphale just had to keep talking briskly as if he wasnt feeling a bubbling warmth inside his chest. 'So I suppose it's my turn to ask- what was my trial like? Did they convene all the Principalities, or just a few?' Aziraphale tried to keep his bright smile plastered on, but the depth of Crowley's look made that impossible. 'My dear, what could they have possibly done? It couldnt be worse.. than that.' And maybe it was that somewhere deep down Aziraphale valued Crowley's life more than his own in the selfless way lovers do, or maybe that he was just being a good angel and believing that Heaven upheld righteousness, but for just a moment Aziraphale genuinely thought that Heaven had treated him fairly. 

Delicately, Crowley shifted Aziraphale's hands in his own to inspect the manicured fingers (done for Crowley's benefit and aesthetic pleasure of course), before looking back up at Aziraphale without the protection of his sunglasses to hide the intensity of his eyes. Such sad eyes, with a deep anger burning behind them. If it weren't for the gravity of the situation, Aziraphale might be blushing.  
'Angel... you didn't have a trial'  
Crowley had tried to hide his anger. He had a lot to be angry at Heaven for, but seeing the way they treated his angel a few days ago was enough to make even the blood of a demon boil. The lack of respect, the utter contempt.. to not even offer the veil of a trial, to not even pretend like they cared about his angel, his Aziraphale beyond what he could do for them like some big-shot capitalist corporation. His hands clenched, forgetting Aziraphale's soft hands between them, and protruding claws bit into the pale skin. Crowley couldn't see for the visions of what he would do to Gabriel if that bastard ever came near Aziraphale again. He couldn't see Aziraphale's face and faith crumple beneath his words, gently presented though they were. 

Crowley couldn't see the way that Aziraphale slumped, collar askew and the remains of the safety net of his very nature wiped clean away. Dry lips opened to let in the ghost of a breath held in shock and processing as his demon glowered at some distant point beyond his shoulder and drew blood. Up until now, Aziraphale had maintained that Heaven was ultimately a force of good. Up until now that force had held together his very life, his sense of who he was. And now, now he saw the two sides were nothing more than warring factions in the guise of morality. Empty. Meaningless. Where did that leave him? 

Before Crowley emerged from his cloud of anger, Aziraphale had managed to find a faintly convincing smile, albeit a sad one, on his face, so that when the demon's eyes refocused it was on a smile. His smile. He tried not to think about his bloody hands. 'Ah well, in that case I haven't much to remember. Thank you, my dear.' Somewhere in this time, Crowley realised his fingers had sharpened to claws and tightened around Aziraphale's, and with a characteristically dramatic yet sincere gasp he let go.  
'Your hands, why didn't you say something?' Crowley was searching Aziraphale's face now, unsatisfied with the smile he was presented with as the truth. Aziraohale withdrew his hands.  
'It makes things easier in the long run I suppose.' He healed his hands without a word, looking quickly down. You couldn't live an angel's lifetime with him and not know the meaning of each minute expression, and Aziraphale knew that. He knew the barely-held together fragility would be screaming at Crowley, and in the most selfish way possible that was not something he could cope with right then.  
'I swear, Aziraphale, I will blow that pathetic excuse of an angel right out of Heaven. I will tear that smug look from his face, drag him down to the darkest pits of hell and make sure he burns alone. Forsaken. ' Crowley had stood by now, the picture of burning righteousness, and Aziraphale could hardly stand the intensity of his rage. The rage for him. He could not help but think that Crowley made a better angel than any of those beyond the pearly gates.  
'Don't be silly my dear, you know neither of us can risk going to Heaven or Hell.' Aziraphale tried to brush off Crowley's rage, tried to quash the strange burning low in his stomach at the protectiveness his demon showed. He smiled with a hint of his usual English practicality and you could almost feel the offer to 'go and make us a cup of tea' that was the traditional response to difficult emotions.  
'But Aziraphale... angel...' Crowley then made a string of incoherent noises which to Aziraphale meant 'he hurt you and that isn't allowed' but to the untrained ear sounds much like the verbalisation of a keyboard smash. Crowley's stance softened, the raw anger to a slow burn kept behind his eyes.  
'I should have known I didn't belong to Heaven a long time ago. I was just never cast out officially.' Aziraphale smiled wider, but it was mostly for Crowley's benefit and cracks showed through of a deep loss. His eyes still wept without tears and were lost in the far distance, gazing at what Crowley couldn't quite imagine. The wind and rage that had whipped his anger into a frenzy had died, and though given the chance he would personally torture Gabriel for an eternity, the look that his angel had on his face required not fire and brimstone but the kindness Aziraphale so constantly showed, the kindness angels should emulate.  
So Crowley knelt.  
Aziraphale was pretty confused now, above everything else and the mounting internal pain, because he had never seem Crowley kneel for anyone, ever. But Crowley knelt in front of him (his wings bursting out involuntarily) and looked up. The look still held that burning anger inside, but again there was that sadness and Aziraphale felt himself break all over again. His breathing began to come in short gasps, uncontrollable, shaking and frowning deeply. Crowley reached out his hands to stead Aziraphale's shoulders, but before he could touch him the angel managed to spit out a short 'stop'. Crowley remained frozen, as he was for a second, eyes searching Aziraphale's face desperately for a sign that he could stay.  
'Angel, what can I do?' He croaked out the request on his knees, looking up to his heaven. Aziraphale looked at him with unstable tear-filled eyes and minutely shook his head between spasming sobs. Crowley's hands were still stretched out, hovering, reaching for his angel and waiting for permission. A long time passed, neither were sure how long, but their gaze never wandered and his tears did not stop falling. 

Then, so faintly he couldn't be sure he heard it, Aziraphale whispered 'Stay.' With a relieved cry followed by a sigh, Crowley reached his hands to the back of Aziraphale's neck to pull their foreheads together, resting gently on one another as they both shook in shared loss. Crowley moved slowly to sit beside Aziraphale on the sofa, letting the angel rest his head on his shoulder and loosely taking his hand.  
'Crowley, you fell'  
'Well noticed.'  
'Does it ever stop hurting?'  
'Angel you didn't fall, you're better than all of them combined.' And then, softly, 'No.'  
A tear traces its course down Aziraphale's cheek.


End file.
